


Ghostly Encounter

by alynwa



Series: A Dinner and a Story [4]
Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for Mrua7 for the 2012 Halloween Challenge on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghostly Encounter

Illya put the finishing touches to his expense account report, signed off and then placed it in his “Out” box.  He glanced at his watch and then looked across the desks at his partner.  “How much longer do you think you will be, Napoleon?  It is almost seven o’clock.  You know once Sal closes up shop for the night, we will have to go through the auxiliary exit.”

“Patience, _Tovarisch_ ; I need to word my report just right.  The Old Man has come to expect the reasons for the destruction of my custom – tailored suits to be creative and entertaining.  I don’t think he would approve my requests for reimbursement otherwise.”  He bent back down to his task as Illya rolled his eyes.  “Sal won’t go to dinner without us; he’s looking forward to it, too.”  This would be their fifth dinner with Sal Del Floria.  The two younger agents found that they enjoyed very much the stories he would tell them about what UNCLE was like before they came to work there.   

Napoleon took the draft he had written in longhand, attached it with paper clips to a blank Expense Report form and placed it in his “To Be Typed” box for the secretarial pool.  “There, all done,” he announced with satisfaction as he unrolled his shirtsleeves, stood and put on his jacket and shot his cuffs.  He checked his watch and smiled.  “With twenty minutes to spare.”

“Come on then; I am anxious to see where dinner will be tonight.  I am very hungry.”

Napoleon laughed as he followed Illya out to Reception.  “What else is new?”

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

It had been Sal Del Floria’s turn to pick a restaurant and he had chosen Umberto’s Clam House in Little Italy.  It was known to be a favorite haunt for made men, especially Joe Gallo which made it a perfect place for three agents wishing to keep a low profile to eat in peace.  They had a booth in the back that afforded a view of the front and egress through the kitchen if necessary.

Dinner had been superb and all three men had eaten until they were comfortably stuffed.  They now sat sipping Sambuca while Napoleon and Illya were anticipating their favorite part of their standing monthly dinner with Sal: A story.

Finally, Sal looked up from momentarily contemplating his glass and asked, “Have you ever wondered why yearly psychiatric evaluations are mandatory for all Section IIs?”

Napoleon perked up immediately and leaned forward.  “Ah, I always thought it’s because of the type of work we do and the very real possibility that we will undergo physical and or mental torture,” he responded as the Russian nodded on agreement.

Sal wiped his mouth with his napkin and answered, “Well, that is part of it, but the original thinking was that unless an agent had _been_ tortured or requested an appointment, he would not have to undergo a psych eval after the initial one all new recruits experienced unless mandated by Medical.”

Illya smiled as he finished the last of his Sambuca and signaled their waiter.  He felt the urge for a _real_ drink and ordered a double shot of vodka, cold and neat.  When it arrived, he swallowed half of it immediately and sighed in blissful pleasure.   “That sounds positively grand to me.  Why did Section I change the policy?”

Now it was Sal’s turn to lean in closer.  He looked around to make sure no one was in earshot and of course, no one was.  “Because of Agents Benjamin Lloyd and Luther Dempsey of UNCLE Europe; both now deceased, sad to say, and both before your time.  Harry Beldon was in charge at the time over there and had received intel indicating the Soviet Union had at least one mole embedded at NATO headquarters in Brussels who was feeding classified information back to the Kremlin.  Lloyd and Dempsey were sent in to flush the mole or moles out.  The head of the NATO office had his suspicions about two employees and they started with befriending the couple he suspected.  The man, Helmut Braun, was a translator and his wife, Hilda, worked as a secretary.  They lived in a large, old house near the center of town that had a beautiful grand staircase and loved to entertain their coworkers.  Every few weeks, Hilda would prepare a buffet meal on Friday or Saturday and any NATO employee in Brussels was welcome to come partake in the meal and, of course, the cocktail hour and after dinner drinks.  The suspicion was that the fuller and drunker people became, the looser their tongues would get and the more likely they would discuss classified material thinking they were among friends; material that the Brauns would then pass along to the KGB.”

“One Friday evening close to Halloween, Lloyd and Dempsey, posing as transfers from the NATO base in Incirlik, Turkey were invited to dinner the next day at the Brauns’ so they could get to know their ‘coworkers’ better.  This was exactly what they had hoped for; they reported to Beldon that they intended to prove or disprove the NATO Director’s suspicion that night.  By all accounts, it was a wonderful evening; the food was up to Hilda’s usual standards, the wine and liquor were flowing freely and Dempsey and Lloyd were accepted without question.  They were both good – looking men and they had even caught the eye of a few women there.”

“Luther Dempsey left the dining room to go use the hallway bathroom.  One of the guests was right in the middle of telling a job – related story when they heard him start screaming hysterically.   Agent Lloyd leapt up from the dinner table and burst into the foyer where he saw his partner at the bottom of the grand staircase staring wide – eyed with terror up at… _nothing._ ”

“’She’s on the stairs!  Go away!  GO AWAY!’  He was so panic – stricken he was hyperventilating.  Lloyd had to shake him to get his attention.”

“He excused themselves from the group and stepped outside into the cold evening air with his partner in tow.  ‘Luther!  Luther, what is the _matter_ with you?  _Who_ was on the stairs?’ he whispered fiercely.  ‘Everyone inside must think you _mad!’_ ”

“Dempsey shook off Lloyd’s hand and began pacing back and forth in an agitated state.  ‘Maybe I _am_ going mad!  When I stepped into the hallway, I looked up and saw a woman in what appeared to be a long white sleeping gown covered by a large shawl or blanket standing at the top of the stairs.  I didn’t remember seeing her before so I said hello.  She didn’t answer me, but began to walk downstairs toward me.  That’s when I noticed…’   He wrapped his arms tightly around himself and kept pacing.”

“It was cold outside and Lloyd didn’t want to stay out there longer than necessary.  ‘That is when you noticed…?’ he repeated to urge Dempsey to finish.”

“’ _That I could see through her! And, and her face had gone misty so I couldn’t discern her features!_ I’m not going back in there!’”

“Nothing Lloyd said made a dent in Dempsey’s resolve.  He knew he couldn’t just leave his partner outside, so he told him to wait while he went in to make excuses, get their coats and say goodnight.”

“He walked back inside and apologized profusely to the Brauns; it was his plan to come to dinner the following week without Luther and complete their mission.  However, as his hosts were escorting him back to the front door, he glanced over his shoulder and saw a transparent woman, just like Dempsey had described, standing a third of the way up the stairs staring at him.  Suddenly, she opened her mouth and showed sharpened teeth and rushed him.  Before he could react, she had passed _through_ him and disappeared!  The Brauns didn’t seem to notice her at all.  It took all he had to remain calm, say goodnight and go out the door.  He handed Dempsey his coat, put his on and then the two left the property as quickly as they could without appearing to be running for their lives.”

Napoleon and Illya had been enthralled while Sal recounted his tale.  When he stopped to sip more Sambuca and didn’t continue immediately, Napoleon inquired, “So, what happened?  Did Lloyd complete the mission?”

Sal shook his head.  “No.  True to his word, Dempsey refused to go back into the house and Lloyd wouldn’t go back, either.  Beldon had to send in two more agents.”

Illya signaled for another shot of vodka and asked, “So, what happened?  Was the mole ever discovered?”

Napoleon poured more Sambuca for Sal and himself.  “ _Grazie,”_ Sal said.  “I don’t know what became of the mission.  Lloyd and Dempsey returned to London and neither one included the ghostly woman in their mission report nor requested counseling.  Dempsey was never quite the same after that.  He became obsessed with the occult and supernatural.  He began ‘seeing’ ghosts everywhere.  He hid it from everyone, including his partner, for just over a year.  The next year on Halloween, he called Lloyd at home to tell him he couldn’t take it anymore and when Lloyd asked what he was talking about, that’s when he found out about Dempsey’s delusions and obsessions.  He was attempting to calm him down when he heard a gunshot.  By the time he got there, Dempsey was dead.”

The two younger agents sat silently absorbing the terrible ending to the story they had just heard.  Napoleon inquired, “Sal, you said nothing about what happened that night at the Brauns’ was ever reported officially.  How can you know any of this?”

Sal cleared his throat.  “I met Ben Lloyd when he transferred to UNCLE North America.  He was assigned to the New York office before his transfer to Chicago.  He didn’t know anyone here.  He and I seemed to be… _simpatico._   He told me the whole story one evening over drinks.  He blamed himself for his partner’s suicide and felt like he should have known something was wrong.  He asked me to keep his confidence and I did.  He hoped starting over in America would help; it didn’t.  He ended up resigning.  We stayed in touch.  I didn’t know I was listed as his emergency contact until the Chicago Police Department called me to say that Ben had been killed in a car accident.”  He rubbed his eyes and drank some more.  He covered his glass with his hand when Napoleon held up the bottle.  “I made an appointment to see Mr. Waverly the next morning.  I told him everything I just told you.  He thanked me and said he intended to bring it to the attention of the other Number Ones at the next Summit Meeting.  Apparently, that is what he did because the yearly mandatory psych evals were agreed upon at that meeting.”

Illya ordered one last drink.  “Sal,” he began, “what happened to Lloyd and Dempsey was a horrendous thing, but how did that translate into the policy change regarding psychiatric evaluations?”

“I told Alex what Ben had told me: He felt responsible for what happened.  If he had reported it, if he had insisted Luther speak to someone or suggested that they both seek counseling maybe Dempsey would still be alive.  He no longer trusted his instincts as an agent.  Imagine how you would feel if your partner committed suicide and you had no idea things were that bad with him?  The organization cannot afford to lose agents to suicide and depression.  Thus, the new directive was born.  It takes the onus of determining an agent’s mental health off the partner and places it where it belongs; on the agency.”

Fifteen minutes later, the men paid their bill and stepped out on Mulberry Street.  They said their goodbyes and then Napoleon and Illya hailed a cab for Sal.  After he pulled away, they hailed one for themselves.  As they headed toward Greenwich Village, Illya kept his eyes on the passing scenery.  After a few minutes he mused, “Sal’s story could be seen as a cautionary tale about keeping one’s appointments with the Psych Unit.”

Napoleon looked over at the back of the blond’s head.  “Are you saying that you are going to start keeping your appointments as scheduled?” he asked.

The Russian never turned around.  “No,” he replied, “I am saying that I am going to make you start keeping yours.”

 

 

 


End file.
